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I remember my mom telling me if I disobey her or my dad they would be consequences. Also, I do remember those consequences wasn’t too pleasant. Then I become a mother raising my children in the same way I was raised. How many times my children or my grandkids would break a few of those rules.

The other day my granddaughter who just turn 13 doesn’t want to follow a simple house rule. She’s at that stage of her life besides being moody where she feels our rules are silly. When she feels she wants to be heard then she disobeyed to make her point.

I will see it at work when a student to make a point they break one of the school rules. Also, we have the ones who doesn’t care no matter the consequences.

When my grandkids disobey it brings back a few memories of myself and my daughter at their age. That’s what I call Karma.

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Growing up in a Puerto Rican home doing our chores, especially on a Saturday was fun. Yes, I know I said fun. Of course, it depends if our friends were outside waiting for us. My mother would put the stereo on a high volume so we can sing during our chores. In our neighborhood, you can hear all different types of music.

We would wake up no later than 8am watch the morning cartoons and then my mother would turn on the stereo. It was cleaning time. Listening to the music would make the cleaning go faster and more enjoyable.

I raise my children in the same way and they didn’t complain at all. By the way they still do their cleaning with the sound of their favorite music. Maybe not as loud as mine. When I’m in my car as soon as I hear a favorite song, the volume goes up. I loved singing in my car and for that reason my grandkids love being with me. This morning I was cleaning my bathroom and my grandson says where was the music. I turn on my CD player and immediately he took the broom as a microphone. The girls follow him, too.

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I took an online class “Write your Life Story” and it shows you how to begin writing from the earliest memories of your life. When I begin to write from the 8-12 some of the memories became blurred. The loving and fun part, those are clear and sharp, however the one I called dark or nightmares those are blurred. I want to remember so I can write and talk about it, but it looks I’ve been hiding them in the deepest of my soul. Do I want to dig those memories? I would say yes, so I can move on. If I kept them hidden they look, it never existed, however I know it’s there. Those memories have been hiding for so long, not even my parents know. That’s the reason I get depressed easily.

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When I was ten years old it was the year 1970 and I was in 5th grade.I remember the bullying it’s start when I was in third grade. A neighbor kid who just moved next to us start to teach me how to defend myself from those girls. Also, I remember getting in trouble with my mother who wants me to ignore them just to keep the peace. She thought if I ignore them it would go away. Little she knew how bad those girls were treating me at school. So, I did defend myself punching their faces. And yes, they did leave me alone.

At ten, I received my first communion and I participate in the church children’s choir. I was a Girl Scout, obtain a few batches, and a group name “The Future Homemakers” where they try to teach me how to cook and sew. In 1970 I went to visit my grandmother in New Jersey for two weeks a trip I would make every two years until 1978.

At ten, I’ve begun to love reading and write a few short stories. Some of them were good and some not so good. I’ve kept my notebooks in a box and last summer, my granddaughter who is twelve found the notebooks and begin reading them. I still don’t get any feedback from her. Remembering when I was ten it brings the memories of how hard it was trying to fit in.

If I Google 1970 I’m sure I would find interesting events that happens in that year, however this time I’m writing about a few of my memories.

Well, I’m going back to bed been sick for the past two weeks it’s not fun. I already missed two days of work and I need my rest.

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I love this prompt since today is my baby sister birthday and her name is Jenny. I remember the day she was born on July 12, 1972 at 7:30 am. I’m the oldest of six children and I was twelve. I don’t remember the weight or all those things that people asked when a baby is born. The only thing I did care was if the baby was a boy or a girl. When I saw her then first time she was the cutest baby in the nursery.

I remember the type of diapers my mother use to put on her they were white cloth diapers tight with pins. My mom will leave them at night in a bucket of bleach and the next day she will wash and hang them outside. I was my mom’s little helper, she was my little baby doll.

When my mom passed away, she was only 14. At that age, she needed my mom the most. My dad did a wonderful job raising the last three youngest especially Jenny. She got married and has three wonderful children. She’s my precious baby sister. For the last three years she decided to move close to me. I’m happy that she did and to have not just Jenny but my dad and my two brothers. I love my baby sister and to her I wish her a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Daily Post: If you could pick one person to be commemorated on a day dedicated to him/her alone, who would you choose?

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I like all of my memories and there isn’t a day that a memory pops on my mind. It doesn’t matter if this memory is from my childhood or the one I create yesterday. My only concern will be to lose them with age. I don’t want to forget any of my childhood memories even it’s a sad one. On occasion my brother will bring a childhood memory and I have to think hard to remember all the details. That’s the part I’m starting to be aware of.

I came with a solution to write them and make a book for my grandkids. I don’t need to publish it; however I want them to learn how to cherish and enjoy the memories.

Christmas 1979

Daily Post: Which good memories are better — the recent and vivid ones or those that time has covered in a sweet haze?